


It's True

by benevolens



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Another post tfp, F/F, F/M, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, but like i had feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 00:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9409100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benevolens/pseuds/benevolens
Summary: Hiya. I know there's been fifty of these, but I had a hard time typing this all out right after the episode. I'm not entirely happy with it, but again it's got the Pengu stamp of approval. It's unbeta'd for grammar etc seeing as I typed it on my mobile. Plus I probably don't say this in enough fics...I don't own these characters as much as I would like to, so all the copy right stuff yadayada.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya. I know there's been fifty of these, but I had a hard time typing this all out right after the episode. I'm not entirely happy with it, but again it's got the Pengu stamp of approval. It's unbeta'd for grammar etc seeing as I typed it on my mobile. Plus I probably don't say this in enough fics...I don't own these characters as much as I would like to, so all the copy right stuff yadayada.

When the line is dead, the tension in her body snaps and she collapses onto the floor still clutching the phone. Simultaneously, there has been a weight lifted from her chest and a new weight placed on her shoulders.

She's forever carried the burden of loving someone who would never love her back. (Forever is an exaggeration, but she's lost more sleep and years off her life surely for it to be an adequate description). What was that silly, old story? The Giving Tree? Surely, Sherlock had cut her down to the stump that day. She hasn't anymore to give.

She is numb to absolutely everything, but some part of her brain has a sense of self preservation and wills her body to drag itself to bed. Molly is not sure how, but she is tucked away, phone out of sight (not out of mind). Staring at the wall opposite where she lays, Molly lets herself drift away, thinking about everything and nothing at all.

When she is next conscious, her head throbs, but she oddly feels warm and safe. There are a pair of warm arms wrapped around her, a lean body whose chest is pressed to her back and the scent of tobacco and something earthy fill her nostrils. She snuggled into her pillow not wanting to face the world when everything she needs is right there (except a nice paracetamol).

It takes a moment, but she knows something isn't right.

This isnt right.

Molly slowly turns onto her side to face the owner of the warm arms and the lean body and she can feel the blood pounding in her ears and her heart squeezing painfully. She turns to look at the sleeping face of the love of her life. The one who asked her for everything she could give. The one who'd broken her heart over and over. The one that always asked for her. The one she had just confessed her love to over the phone. The one that had forced the confession and then said the words back in a less than believable way. (The first time was insincere, but something in her gut told her there was something different in his voice the second time).

His face is boyish and yet there is discomfort displayed in his furrowed brows. She wants to smooth them out with her thumb (or a kiss). He at some point had changed into the spare clothing he kept but his face still held smears of dirt and god knew what else. Molly attempted to slide out of his embrace (it nearly burned to be so close....to be held like this), gently returning his arm to his side, but paused on his hands. They were shot to hell it seemed, cuts everywhere and filled with what looked like splinters and covered in dried blood.

Her heart squeezed again.

"Molly, please don't..."

She froze as he whispered, but when she looked up, Sherlock was still asleep.

"Don't go. They can't take you from me. No one...Please...You can't...Take me--" Molly watched as the words went from whispers to sobs and she wondered what hell he had been through last night, shoving her pain aside for the time being.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, I'm here. Me...Molly. Wake up..." She murmured, placing a hand on his cheek, hoping to draw him out.

After a few more moans and shakes of his head, Sherlock's lids pushed back and Molly was stuck under the intense gaze of blue eyes. His brow relaxed for a moment before furrowing again and suddenly, he had taken her captive, pressing her cheek to his chest.

She lay there rigid, fighting the urge to curl herself around him.

"Molly?" He called out coherently, voice raspy with sleep and no doubt exhaustion.

"Yes?"

"Don't go. I have something to say."

"Where would I go? You're in my bed."

"I-I had to see...See that you were okay...Well, as well as you could be after what I did." The hesitation in his voice and the way he began to shake spurred her into action. Molly wrapped her arms around him and pulled the duvet up over them.

"God help me, I hate you right now...But I'll listen."

"I'll tell you it all, Molly. Everything." He readjusted his arms as if to truly be sure she was there in his arms before launching into the tale of his sister, the lost childhoods, the psychopathy and the game; the final problem. Molly had been steadily crying throughout, but shuddered when he began the next trial.

"When we walked into the next room,the was a coffin. The lid was up against the wall and I knew she wanted me to deduce whose body it was meant for. It was a punch to the gut when I saw--And John couldn't even understand and Mycroft picked up the lid and --" Each breath between words gave away just how badly he was shaking, so she hitched a leg around his and pressed herself closer.

"I'm here." She whispered.

"The lid...Only the loved ones of the deceased inscribe the lid, but they were daft enough to think it was someone who loved me. True as it was, but no....It was inscribed on my behalf for the one--the one I love. She rang you...Told me I had to get you to say the release code only it wasn't you she wanted to hear the words from. I was always the emotional one. I was the one who had to say it and she had to believe it true." Sherlock paused to take a shuddering breath and squeezed Molly in his arms.

"The task was more than making you say it...She knew you could be strong enough to say it, that I could make you say it and save you from the explosives. I-I-There wasn't any by the way, but she's so clever. She knew you would make me say it...first or back to you, but I would have to say it and mean it. She would know I was lying, so if you think I was...I wasn't..."

"Sherlock, please..." Her whimper was muffled by his chest and by then she didn't know which one of them was left shaking or if it was both.

"No, Molly. I didn't believe it myself the first time, but when I said it again...It just slipped out at the thought that I would never get to say it again...That I would have to see you in that coffin. You'll be strong enough to bury me. Hell, you have, but I'm not as strong as you. I couldn't bear the thought. I wanted to say more then, but she cut the line. She told me I lost anyway. I'd shown my weakness. Sentiment is found on the losing side...." He whispered the last statement wistfully before sucking in a deep breath. "Mycroft had rushed into the next room with John behind him." Sherlock continued. " I stayed and the minute I lifted the lid to set it on top, I snapped. I lost it completely. I smashed the damn things to bits because I vowed to myself to never let you be in it..."

Molly didn't know she had the capacity to create this many tears, but she clutched at Sherlock looking for the words to say to him, to tell him she believed him, but most of all to take away the pain for the both of them.

"I know I'm a bastard."

"You are." Molly sobbed, clutching at his clothes, her hands wrapped in tight fists.

"But, I can't go another minute without you knowing. It's true. It's always been true. For both of us and I was stupid to blind myself and you hate me now. You should hate me...with every ounce of your tiny being, but instead it's filled with love and compassion and I don't deserve you, but I-I need you."

She felt liked she had been crying for years when it finally stopped. Sherlock had stopped shaking too and had taken to stroking her hair, cheek pressed to the crown of her head.

"It's true, Molly." He whispered, pressing a kiss into her hair.

"Is it?"

"It's true. I...I love you."

"You are...a daft bastard and a horrible fucking friend at times, but you are also the bravest man I know. After all this time, you do deserve love."

"I promise it's true..." Sherlock whispered again, nose buried in her hair.

Molly thought for a moment whether she had the strength to repeat what he'd ask of her and thought better.

"It is true. It's always been true."


End file.
